


Side-Streets

by ioanite



Category: Disney Animated Fandoms, The Great Mouse Detective (1986)
Genre: Community: disney_kink, Gen, Mild Gore, Prompt Fill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-06
Updated: 2014-01-06
Packaged: 2018-01-07 17:43:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1122618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ioanite/pseuds/ioanite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Basil of Baker Street has taken on many strange cases and faced many dangerous mice. But going up against the world's first, and most famous, serial killer? That's something else entirely.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Side-Streets

**Author's Note:**

> This, as with almost all the Disney fic I write, was a response to a prompt on the Livejournal community Disney_Kink. The prompt: "Basil (and Dawson?) take on Jack the Ripper."
> 
> This was the first fill I did, since I'm quite interested in the Ripper Mythos. It's also one of my longer ones; most won't be this long.
> 
> Because of the nature of Jack the Ripper, I'm issuing a WARNING: There are several mentions of blood, death, and gore throughout the work, although there's nothing too graphic.
> 
> Also, I know that I've included Dawson even though the events of the movie don't take place until 1897, but both the prompter and I agreed he should be there to give Basil some support.

The dark streets of Whitechapel contained a world that few wished to venture into. It was a place of gloom, misery and horror, even when the sun was out. But at night…ah, that’s when the _real_ owner of the streets showed its face. Death prowled the slums at night, everyone knew, and those who could did their best to stay out of it.

In recent months, Death had taken the form of a madman, who cut poor women to ribbons for a purpose the police could only guess at. Some thought he was a demon, as he seemed to vanish without a trace once the deed was done. Some thought he was a doctor, performing some sort of sick experiment. A few even whispered that he was of noble blood, exacting a strange revenge. But all agreed that he was like something out of a nightmare.

Tonight, he had killed again. Not that the police would know it right away, but he had actually killed twice, a job left unfinished. The man made up for lost time on the second one, quickly and efficiently dispatching her and tearing her apart. It would make quite the sensation when she was found.

The man—Jack, as the papers called him—opened a tin and slipped one of the woman’s kidneys into it, smiling as he hid it in the folds of his cloak. He had plans for it that would send London into a positive frenzy. He looked back down at the corpse, admiring his handiwork. Swiftly, he planted a kiss on her forehead. “Make a good scene in death, Unfortunate. It’ll be more than you ever did in life.” With that, he moved down one of the alley’s other side-streets, content that once again, no one had seen him.

But what he didn’t know was that someone _had_ been watching him. And unfortunately for Jack, that someone wasn’t human.

***

It was a coincidence that Basil happened to be in that particular alley at that particular time. He’d been in the area for a case, trying to figure out who had attempted to flood the Queen’s palace. He’d found the culprits satisfactorily (it was a gang of the lowest thugs, led by a disgruntled ex-servant) and was starting to make his way home when a noise attracted his attention. Basil was always a very keen observer, of course, but he was very particular about what he paid attention to. A low, malicious laugh, one that reminded him of his old nemesis, was definitely something worth examining. Basil had, therefore, climbed onto the nearest thing he could find to get a better vantage point.

What he saw caused him to stiffen with a mixture of shock and anger. A mouse in his profession was used to seeing grim sights, but this…this was brutality on an unprecedented scale. He held very still, unable to look away at what the human was doing. A part of him—the analytical part—found itself impressed by the skill displayed, but it was no excuse for defiling a woman in that way.

Before he could compose himself, the man had risen and vanished. Basil knew it would do no good to follow him; the man moved faster than any mouse, and if he got into a carriage, there would be no way to trace him. Basil straightened, smoothing his clothes, wanting to leave and forget all about it. He had a report to present to the Queen’s aide, after all, and his experiment was showing signs of progress.

And yet…he hesitated at the smell of blood, still heavy in the air. Most mice stayed out of the human’s domain; they took residence in their houses and sometimes used their architecture to their advantage, but everyone knew it wasn’t wise to get involved at risk of being caught and killed. Basil already took a risk by travelling all over the city for the sake of his cases. Staying away from this would be his best course of action.

“No,” he said to himself, decisively, “I can’t let this go.” He’d made a promise to himself when he’d taken on the life of a detective that he would do his utmost to protect the innocent. That woman surely didn’t deserve what had happened to her. And maybe this was out of his depth, but he couldn’t just stand by after seeing something like that.

Basil looked into the darkness where the man had vanished. Despite himself, he could feel the tingle of excitement at the prospect of a good mystery. “The game is afoot.”

The first thing to do was gather information. Over the next few days, he wandered around London, into and out of houses, looking for old newspapers. There had been murmurs, even among the mice, of how bloody the streets of the East End had become of late, and surely the humans had more details. He was not disappointed.

The pieces he got were fragmented and biased, but there was still enough for him to get a picture of what had been going on in the past months. “Jack” had been busy, and although this latest death had been the worst, the others had been no less violent. Basil wrote down everything of note, then spread everything out on his work bench, covering page after page with notes and theories. But other than the bodies he left behind, there was nothing he could find out about “Jack”. He was good with a knife, could work quickly and efficiently, and had something against Unfortunates, whatever that meant.

Basil sighed after his fifth fruitless attempt to find a clue, rubbing his temples. Ordinarily, he might have bounced ideas off of Dawson, but his friend had taken off to the country to tend to an old friend, and wouldn’t be back for at least a month. He’d have to do this on his own.

Or would he?

  
Basil laughed and clapped his hands. “It’s obvious! Why didn’t I think of it before?” Getting to his feet, he peered out of the door to make sure there were no humans about. Then, he gave a low whistle.

The thundering footfalls of his faithful hound could be heard immediately. In moments, Toby was standing above him. “There you are, old boy! Up for a bit of a chase?”

Toby nodded eagerly, tongue lolling everywhere. “Good! Now, the scent’s old and can’t be traced, but it may give us a starting point. And barring that, we’ll just have to explore the streets.”

Toby barked his agreement. Basil clipped on the leash and climbed aboard. “When will your masters be back, Toby?”

Toby cocked his head, puzzled at the question; Basil never asked this sort of thing. “It’ll be very suspicious indeed if they come home and find you missing. No need to draw undo attention to us.” The dog’s ears perked up in comprehension, and he gave six small yips. Basil consulted his watch; it was three o’clock now. If they used some shortcuts, they could be at the crime scene by three-thirty. “All right then, we should be on our way. I’ll tell you where to go.”

Basil had circled the area of the various crime scenes numerous times in the past weeks, hoping to get _some_ bit of information out of them. He easily guided Toby towards the fourth scene, keeping to the shadows as much as possible; if the humans saw a dog wandering around without a collar, it could be bad for both of them. Toby, always quick on the uptake, followed Basil’s lead. Once they were in the lower districts, however, Basil allowed him to move more freely; humans didn’t seem to question the presence of dogs in that area.

They arrived, and Basil slid down the lead and beckoned Toby over to where he’d seen the killer kneeling. “Smell here, Toby, like I’ve taught you. And keep any scents in your memory.” Toby panted in response and sniffed the ground, cocking his head in a curious manner. When he looked up, Basil rubbed the area with a handkerchief and climbed on the dog once more. “All right, now this way.”

He brought Toby to the first crime scene and had him sniff around again. “Do any of these scents match the ones you found at the first place?”

Toby cocked his head and raised his eyes in thought. Then he made a face which clearly said “Maybe, but I can’t be sure.” Basil sighed—of course it couldn’t be that easy. “All right, then, come along with me,” he said, rubbing the spot where Toby had last sniffed with another handkerchief, “We have two more places to examine. Maybe you can get a cohesive sample then.”

But it was not to be. Although Toby’s ears perked up after his sniffing of the final scene, it was clear that the scent trails were too weak for him to be able to track down “Jack”. Basil wasn’t pleased, but still not overly dismayed. He’d collected samples of the ground in each place, and could hopefully extract something out of them with his chemical equipment. Then, armed with a sample of “Jack’s” scent, he and Toby could prowl the streets at night, while Toby’s human owners were asleep, seeing if they could pick up a fresh trail. It promised to be hard work, with many fruitless nights, but it was all he could think to do at the moment.

He hated to think this way, but perhaps it would be easier if news came of another murder. He vowed to keep his ears open, and watch the human papers. Every bit of information was vital to this case’s success.

***

It took two days of almost constant work, but Basil did manage to extract and combine a scent for Toby to follow. The two of them wandered up and down the dark streets (Whitechapel, the locals called it) every night for hours, fruitlessly covering the same ground. Toby was a good sport about it, but Basil could tell he was getting as tired of it as the detective was.

Listening to the human news wasn’t helpful. The case was talked about, but no new information came to light. There was a flurry of activity at one point, when it was announced that someone had sent a letter and part of a kidney to the police, and Basil’s hopes had been raised. But try as he might, he couldn’t get into the police station where the letter was being held, much less get Toby inside to try to capture the scent. And when he returned the next day when the station was open, he learned that some bungler had _lost_ the evidence. All they had now were copies of the letter. Another dead end.

“I don’t know, old boy,” Basil said to Toby one night, as they rested in a courtyard, “Maybe he’s had enough. Other than that letter, he hasn’t done anything remotely threatening in ages. If that’s the case, we’ll probably _never_ find him.”

Toby, who was lapping at a water trough, gave a brief nod of agreement. Basil sighed and took off his hat to smooth his fur. “I’m not so inclined to give up yet. But it’s not fair to either of us to keep tramping through these streets night after night. We could use a rest. What do you say that after tonight, we take it easy for awhile, at least until Dawson returns?”

Toby looked up eagerly at that and barked his approval. Basil smiled and was about to say something else when something caught his eye. There had been a light shining dimly into the courtyard from a broken windowpane (the cloth covering the hole did little to keep the light out). But now a shadow moved in front of the light and remained there for a minute. “Shh.” He said to Toby, turning to look at the window in question. Abruptly, the light vanished. _That’s strange,_ Basil thought, _If they were disturbed by Toby’s barking, they surely would have shouted something, or come out and chased us away. Why come to the window at all?_ Something didn’t feel right here.

Patting Toby on the head, Basil made his way up to the windowsill in question. He put his hands on the piece of cloth and pulled it aside gently. He peered inside, not quite sure what he was expecting to find, a person who had just gone to bed, perhaps. Instead, he saw that the candle had _not_ been blown out, but had rather been moved to the far end of the room. And illuminated by the light, leaning over the bed, was…

Basil felt as though he had just plunged into the Thames in the middle of winter. He couldn’t move a muscle. He heard nails on the cobblestones and knew that Toby had come up to him to see what was wrong. Basil swallowed. “Get in the farthest, darkest corner of the courtyard, Toby,” he managed to whisper, “And don’t make a sound. If you value your life, keep absolutely still.”

Jack the Ripper was in the room.

Even with his sharp eyesight, Basil couldn’t make out everything that went on in the room for the next hour. But he could see, hear, and smell enough to know that everything “Jack” had done to his previous victims was _nothing_ compared to this. There was blood everywhere. “Jack” worked silently, and never once looked round, keeping his eyes bent over the body. Basil wanted to look away, to go hide with Toby and wait until “Jack” left the room. But something kept him rooted in place. It was as if an irrational fear had seized him and told him not to take his eyes off the man, or else he would vanish, as he had so many times before. Basil felt himself shaking, with horror, yes, but also with rage. How could someone bring themselves to do something like this, man or mouse alike? It was monstrous.

Finally, “Jack” stood up, wiping his blood-stained knife on the bedsheets. Picking up the candle, he turned towards the window, evidently intending to put it back where he’d found it. Only then was Basil able to move his legs, and he bolted down the nearest pipe to the ground. He lay flat on the ground, waiting. He heard the door creak open, slide closed, and then the scraping of a key in the lock. Then footsteps moved away from the courtyard, into the night.

“Toby!” Basil said hoarsely, “Come on, quick!”

Toby approached him, nudging him gently with his nose. Basil climbed aboard, brushing down his clothes. “I’m fine, Toby, I’m fine. Smell the doorstep, quickly! It’s him!”

Toby growled softly and trotted over to the stoop. He sniffed once, deeply, and the growling got a little louder. “Track him down!” Basil said, “I need to know where he lives!”

Toby threw back his head in preparation for the baying call, but seemed to know that that wasn’t a wise move. So instead, he shook his head and took off at a run. He didn’t even put his nose to the ground; the scent must have been very fresh indeed.

“Jack” hadn’t taken a carriage out of the area. Considering how much blood he must have had on his clothes, it wasn’t all that surprising. Toby ran through the streets, turning left, then right, then left again. Basil leaned forward on Toby’s head, trying to get the slightest hint about where they were heading. Ten minutes had passed before he realized that they had left Whitechapel entirely. “Do you still have the scent, Toby?”

Toby gave a positive yip in response, lowering his head and charging forward. Basil tried to take note of the various streets so he could make a map in his head, but the hound was moving too fast for him to get a lay of the land. He’d just have to hope for a street sign at their final destination. He tightened his grip on Toby’s collar and peered into the darkness, looking for the slightest hint of “Jack.”

He was so lost in his thoughts that he nearly flew off Toby’s back when they came to a screeching halt. Basil looked up, smoothing his clothes automatically, and saw the outline of a small house. He looked around intently; not exactly in a good part of town, but certainly not as dilapidated as Whitechapel. He hadn’t timed their journey, but he was willing to bet that the house  was within walking distance of Whitechapel. A safe house for “Jack”, no doubt. It was a place for him to go to change out of blood-soaked clothes and hide his…materials. Basil spotted a street marker, and after a quick glance at it (he’d find it on a map later), he turned Toby back towards Baker Street. The dog loped along easily, satisfied at a tracking job well done, but the mouse remained silent for the whole journey back.

Despite the late hour, Toby slipped inside with no trouble. Basil patted him on the head idly and made his way to his home. He pushed the door closed, slid off his coat, turned to hang it up…and blinked in surprise.

“There you are, Basil!” Dawson said, looking up from his paper, “Goodness, where have you been? It’s getting on morning!”

 “Dawson?” Basil said, “What are you doing back so soon? Your last letter indicated that you thought you would be in the country for quite some time.”

“The patient recovered much quicker than expected when on the proper medication, so I came back to London.” Dawson looked at Basil curiously. “I say, old fellow, are you quite all right? You’re looking exceedingly pale.”

Basil sighed and rubbed his temples. “I’m fine, Dawson. Truly. It’s from my latest case. I spent the night trailing him with Toby.”

“Anything I can do to help?” Dawson said, clearly concerned. Basil found himself oddly touched by that, and managed a smile. “Perhaps, Dawson. If you’re amenable, you can come along with me tomorrow.”

“I believe I will, if you think I’ll be of use. But shouldn’t you tell me what it’s all about?”

Basil stood in front of the fire as he felt a chill run up his spine. “I’ll give you the basics on our way to the house. What I’ve seen tonight…no one else should be subjected to.”

***

Dawson, while clearly skeptical of meddling in human affairs, was sufficiently horrified by the (sanitized) versions of the killings to agree to help Basil in the matter. He obligingly climbed onto Toby’s back the next afternoon and waited for Basil to issue his directions. Then he said, “If I may, Basil…now that you’ve found this man, what do you intend to do about it? Going to the human authorities would be dangerous for us, and you’d probably be hard pressed to get them to listen to you anyway.”

“All too true, Dawson,” Basil said with a sigh, “As much as I’m loath to do so, I’m going into this without a plan. All I can do at the moment is get into his house and have a look around. Maybe I’ll see something that will allow me to proceed. One thing is for certain; the man must be stopped.”

“Quite right,” Dawson replied with a wince, “A madman like that can’t be allowed to roam the streets.”

“Yes, it may give the other criminals, be they human or mouse, something to look up to and emulate, something which much be avoided at all costs. I refuse to let this city be plunged into chaos because of one man with an irrational grudge.”

Toby yipped to catch their attention, and Basil realized they were getting close to their destination. “Good boy, Toby,” he said, patting the hound’s head, “When we get there, feel free to have a stroll, but don’t go too far, all right?” Toby eagerly panted his assent.

By daylight, the house didn’t look sinister at all. A bit run-down, to be sure, but nothing out of the ordinary for this area of London. Basil hopped off Toby’s back, Dawson at his heels, and began to look for a way in. He found a gap in the boards easily enough, and squeezed through, pulling them apart a little to grant Dawson entrance.

The inside seemed no different from the outside; there was the main room, which held a table, chair, and larder, and a room off to the right which was clearly a bedroom. Better than most East Londoners could afford, but certainly much cheaper than an apartment at the fashionable end of town. Basil took all this in at a glance, but didn’t dare move out from the darkness until his senses one and all reassured him that “Jack” was not at home.

In fact, a more thorough examination of the rooms indicated that the place was barely lived in. There was no food in the larder, no indents in the mattress, and most of the drawers and shelves were empty. There were a few signs of occupancy, though. The closet contained several sets of dark clothes and a long, rippling black cloak. In the corner was a heap of discarded clothes, and all it took was a whiff of dried blood to prevent Basil from examining them too carefully. It did, however, confirm to him that this was not “Jack’s” home, but rather a safe house so he could change his bloody clothes and still appear to be a regular member of society. This led to a logical deduction. “Dawson, check the floor for loose boards. Our man has to keep his tools around here somewhere.”

Five minutes of close scrutiny quickly revealed what they were looking for. Tucked into a square space no bigger than an average suitcase was a black bag. Inside was a bottle of red ink, several pairs of gloves, and a folded piece of paper that was probably a map of the area. But what really caught the eye was the two or three long, sharp knives at the bottom of the bag.

Dawson turned pale at the sight and hurriedly clambered out of the bag. Basil remained inside, trying to find any hint of “Jack’s” identity. But other than proving that the bag came from a high-end shop, there was nothing to be found. Basil grit his teeth in frustration and climbed out; his only option now was to stake out the house and wait for “Jack’s” return. The big question, however, was when he would do them.

“What can I do, Dawson?” he said as they emerged outside once more, “I might not have any other cases at the moment, but I can’t spend all my time watching the house while trying to come up with a plan. And it’s not fair to make you take shifts with me, especially if he goes out again.” He shuddered at the thought. “But I’m not sure I have any other option. Toby? Toby, where are you?”

“Over there, Basil,” Dawson said, pointing, “He seems most interested in something.”

Toby was sitting in a small ditch, and his head was pointed at something on the ground. He looked fascinated, but not overly alert. Curiosity piqued, Basil made his way over. As he reached the dog, he heard a little giggle, and poked his head round to see a small group of young mice looking at Toby with a mix of awe and fear, although they seemed to have no inclination to run. He cleared his throat, and they jumped. “Sorry, Mister,” one of the older boys said, chagrined, “Is this your dog?”

“In a manner of speaking,” Basil said, patting Toby’s leg, “No harm done in just looking at him.”

They looked relieved. “It’s just that we don’t see many dogs around these parts,” the boy continued, “And he looked friendly enough, so we just wanted to take a closer look.”

“Well, you’re all very brave,” Basil said approvingly, “Most mice your age, and even ones my age, would flee at the sight of any dog, friendly or not.”

The boy puffed up his chest, “Fear gets you nowhere. I don’t want to be afraid of anything.”

Basil opened his mouth, but decided not to shatter the boy’s illusions at this point in time. “Well, at any rate, now that we’ve bonded over Toby, we should introduce ourselves. My name is Basil.”

There was a collective widening of eyes. “Not THE Basil?” a girl said, “The one who solves all those crimes?”

“I see my reputation precedes me,” Basil said, smoothing down his clothes just as Dawson came round Toby’s side. “Ah, and this is my associate Dr. Dawson. Dawson, these charming young children were telling me that they’ve heard of our cases.”

“I’m not surprised,” Dawson said with a smile, “You _do_ take on all sorts of cases. You’ve even been in this area a few times.”

“What are you doing here now, Mr. Basil?” the boy asked, “Is it an exciting case?”

Basil clapped a hand to his forehead as he realized that he had just been presented with a solution to his problem. “It has the potential to be. I’m chasing down a very dangerous man, and I’m afraid Dawson and I can only do so much…I say, do you think you might be willing to help me? For the bragging rights, and maybe for a few coins?”

The children started squealing in excitement, which gave Basil his answer. He smiled. “Excellent. Now tell me, children, do you see that house over there?”

“Of course!” came the almost indignant answer, “We all live around the house!”

Basil felt his pulse quickening—this was even better than he could have hoped for. “Have you ever seen the man who lives there?”

They exchanged glances. “We don’t see him directly,” the boy said at last, “Our parents don’t want us to be seen and risk getting…well, you know. He’s rarely at home anyway. But some nights…we can hear the floorboards creaking. Tim here lives  in the eaves and sometimes sees a shadow moving around, right, Tim?” Tim nodded. “Anyway, he’s never there for long, but sometimes he comes back with a terrible scent around him.”

“That’s fine, that’s fine,” Basil said, rubbing his hands together,  “Now then, what did you say your name was?” he said, addressing the boy.

“Paul.”

“All right, then, Paul, I’m going to need you and your friends to show me just how brave you are. I want you all to keep your eyes and ears open at night. If the man comes back, I want you to try to creep out and watch him. He’ll probably take a piece of paper out of a bag and start looking at it. Can any of you read?” Paul nodded. “Well then, if he ever taps a spot on the paper, I want you to tell me what it says. It’s very important you do this; you may save somebody’s life if you do. And if he happens to take his bag and leave that very night, one of you must be very brave indeed and get into that bag to see where he goes.”

They looked distinctly thrilled at the prospect. “I’ll be coming around this area every afternoon. Tell me what you’ve seen. Do you think you can do it?”

“If Mum catches me, it’ll be my hide,” Paul said, “But anything to help out a great detective like you.”

Basil smiled and pulled out a handful of coins. “Well then, here’s something that might assuage her if you get caught. But don’t tell her unless it’s absolutely necessary.”

“Right-o. See you tomorrow, Mr. Basil.”

The children waved and hurried back towards their homes. “Do you think they’ll be useful, Basil?” Dawson said skeptically as they climbed onto Toby, “What if this Jack fellow decides to go out and…do another crime the same day he decides where he wants to go? You’d be too late to stop him.”

“I admit it’s a gamble. But after what he did last night, I don’t think he’ll be going out for a few days anyway. That should be just enough time to set my other plan in motion.”

“Other plan? Will you be letting _me_ in on it?”

“Not unless I see results. But suffice it to say that with the assistance of my young helpers, I may be able to persuade ‘Jack’ to discontinue his behavior.”

***

Basil threw his plan into effect that very night. The owners of the house had left again, and he wasted no time in taking advantage of it. With Toby keeping an ear out, he climbed up onto the desk and easily located the typewriter. Dawson reluctantly helped Basil load a sheet of paper into the machine. Then Basil made his way from key to key, keeping his message short to increase the impact. He chose his spelling carefully, leaving some letters off, adding others in, and occasionally spelling a word phonetically. Once he was satisfied, he and Dawson removed the paper and worked to fold it neatly into quarters (Toby lent a paw as well). “Now what?” Dawson asked.

“Now,” Basil said, as he climbed onto Toby, “We pay that house another visit and get a report from Paul. Coming along?”

“Not this time, Basil,” Dawson said, a touch apologetically, “I’m not sure I want to meet this ‘Jack’ fellow face to face. But if you feel you need me there…”

“I could use a little help with this paper,” Basil said, tucking the square into Toby’s collar for the time being, “But I could probably get assistance from Paul and the other children if necessary. It’s up to you, old boy.”

Dawson thought for a minute. Then he shrugged and climbed aboard. “There’s always the shadows if he shows up.”

“That’s the spirit! Now then, Toby, you know where to go.”

It took a few minutes of light rapping at the wall, but Paul finally materialized. “Mr. Basil? You’re back sooner than I’d expected.”

“My plan couldn’t wait. Is he in?”

“No, sir.”

Basil heard Dawson’s sigh of relief, and smiled a little. “Good. Could you gather your friends and help us out? We need to get a piece of paper up to the table.”

“I’ll see if I can convince the mums to let them out for a minute.”

“Fine, fine. We’ll be at the door.”

Even with the extra help, it took a good half-hour to push the paper through the crack, and another ten minutes to hoist it onto the table. “Thank you, children,” Basil said, panting slightly with exertion, You’ve done well. I’ll be around in the afternoon for my report. Until then, take this with my thanks.”

 He gave each child two coins, which they accepted with smiles and murmurs of thanks. Then he sent them on their way, and he and Dawson crept out of the house and back onto Toby. “Well, now that we’ve gotten through _that_ without incident, would you mind telling me what it was all about? Or do you need to see if your plan comes to fruition?”

Basil laughed at how put-out Dawson sounded. “I’ll let you in on my secret, if it means that much to you. Really, it’s a trivial thing when you get down to it, but it might pique our man’s interest. You see, I’ve put the paper in a spot where he’s bound to notice it when he comes round to plot out his next crime. When he opens the paper, he’ll see two sentences that, God willing, will give him pause.”

“And those sentences would be?”

Basil smirked. “‘I know what you’ve done. I’m watching you.’”

***

For a month, Basil heard nothing from his young informants. He still went by the house every day, and got the same report; “Nothing, Mr. Basil. Nothing’s disturbed our sleep, and the paper hasn’t been touched.” Basil wasn’t all that surprised—after the bloodbath of his last murder, “Jack” would almost certainly be lying low.

He took up a few small cases in the interim, things that could be wrapped up quickly. Dawson continued with his medical practice, and still found time to run around London with Basil every few days. He said he appreciated the exercise, but Basil saw the thrilled spark in his eye when they went out, and he was glad that the doctor was starting to enjoy the life of a detective.

And then, one afternoon in mid-December, a few days before Christmas, Paul was waiting for them at their usual rendezvous point, bouncing with excitement. “He was here, Basil! Three of us saw him!”

Basil leapt off Toby’s back at once. “Did he see the paper?”

“Yes, and he read it immediately. Then he set it down, folded up _his_ piece of paper, and put everything back in the floor. He left shortly thereafter, moving like he was in an awful hurry.”

“And he wasn’t carrying anything with him?”

“No. He even took off the hat and cloak he was wearing and hung them back up.”

Basil’s smile was grim. “Good. Very good. I don’t expect he’ll be back until after Christmas, but keep your eyes peeled, regardless. Here’s something for the lot of you to share. I’ll be back tomorrow, as usual.”

He rooted through the papers for the next few days, but there was no sign of a “ghastly murder”. He sighed with relief, causing Dawson to look up from his book. “So what does this mean, Basil?”

“Nothing as yet, Dawson. We’ve put him on the alert, but not enough to make him run, thankfully. The fact that he left his items behind was proof of that. The letter’s intent was clear enough, but the spelling was enough to convince him it was some uneducated laborer who somehow got hold of a typewriter. In short, that first message wasn’t a credible threat, and certainly not enough to make him stop entirely. In fact, I’m sure that he’s planning another murder to ring in the new year. Which means it’s time to move to phase two.”

After Boxing Day, Basil crept onto the typewriter again. This time, he spelled his message perfectly, but threw in just a bit of lower-class vernacular. Then he and Dawson returned to the house that night, once again enlisting his little helpers. It took a solid hour to carry the plan to fruition, since it involved getting the letter to the top of the closet shelf and tucking it into the brim of the hat. After ensuring that the paper would be in a prominent place, Basil paid the children and crept down to earth again. “And what did this one say?” Dawson asked, looking up at it.

“‘I wouldn’t go out tonight if I was you.’”

And “Jack” didn’t. Paul reported that the man had been visibly shaken when he’d read the note, and had immediately set down his hat and walked out, although he still didn’t remove his supplies. For now, he still didn’t see this mysterious messenger as a threat. Which meant that it was time to move onto phase three. If all went well, there would be no need for a phase four.

Three days after “Jack’s” last appearance, Basil returned to the typewriter. Having informed Dawson of his plans in advance, the doctor consented to help Basil type on the keys. Everything had to be done perfectly this time around; sentences were capitalized, the language got more flowery, and everything was perfectly punctuated. Thus, it took three sheets of paper before Basil successfully typed:

 

Jack,

I am well aware of your actions around Whitechapel, as my scattering of your effects has made abundantly clear. Be advised, I have this house under careful observation. If I see any sign of life in this house, I shall immediately send for the police.

 You have been caught, Jack.

—X

 

Basil and Dawson went round to the house the next afternoon and enlisted the entire group of children to help them. With a great deal of effort, they got into “Jack’s” bag and removed all its contents. The gloves were scattered throughout the house, the map was put underneath the pile of bloody clothes, the red ink was opened and knocked onto the table, and (the masterstroke, which took a combined effort and two hours to fully effect) the knife was plunged into the bed. Then the note was slipped inside the bag, which was left conspicuously open, and everybody took their leave, the children eagerly examining the silver and gold coins Basil had given them for a job well done. “And now, my dear Dawson, all we have to do is wait.”

A week later, the whole gaggle of children was out to welcome Basil when he arrived on Toby’s back. Even before he dismounted, he was grinning from ear to ear, knowing full well what he was about to hear. “It was amazing, Mr. Basil!” one of the girls said, “He came into the house and nearly jumped out of his skin when he saw the ink on the table. Then he took out his bag and read the note, his hands shaking all the while. He almost broke his lamp when he tried to snuff it out and practically tore apart the house looking for all his things, and he looked like he was about to faint when he found the knife. That’s when he ran out of the house and started screaming for someone to come out. Caused quite the commotion, he did.”

“And what happened then?” Basil said, heart pounding. If he had succeeded…

“He was so loud that he alerted the neighbors. They first started shouting for him to shut up, then they must have come out to detain him. We didn’t dare go out and look, but he didn’t come back inside. I think they dragged him away.”

“Good!” Basil said, starting to laugh, “Good. Very good indeed.” He held up a hand while he composed himself. “You’ve all done well, children. I thank you most sincerely and gratefully for your help. If I’m correct, you lot are just as responsible as I am for stopping a terrible threat to the country.”

They looked up at him in awe. He immediately emptied his pocketbook of all the coins he had in thanks, then turned to Toby. “Stay here and play with the children if you like, Toby. I’ve got some listening in to do.”

His hopes were confirmed in the very first house he crept into. Two ladies were in the house gossiping over a glass of beer, and the subject of conversation was “that commotion last night.”

“Oh, yes,” one of them said, “He was right out of his mind, gibbering about someone watching his house and how the police wouldn’t believe him. My husband went into his room today to see what it was all about and gad! what a mess. Whatever that man had been up to, I sure couldn’t tell you.”

“Where is the man now?”

“The men hauled him to the nearest constable, who put him in a cell to cool down. At the time, we all thought he’d just had one too many. But after what my husband found, they’ve come to the conclusion that he’s a complete lunatic. They’re packing him off to a sanatorium as soon as possible.”

The other woman shuddered. “To think that we were living so close to a madman! What if we’d gone round to visit, and he’d turned violent?”

“Well, no harm’s been done. I do wonder if they’ll _ever_ be able to sell that house now, though.”

***

“A triumph, Dawson, a veritable triumph!” Basil cried exultantly, dancing on the spot, “I shall have to go into town and purchase the finest dog treats as a reward for all of Toby’s hard work. And perhaps I’ll purchase that fine violin I’ve had my eye on. I believe I’ve earned it, after all this.”

“There’s no question that you’ve done well, Basil,” Dawson said, hesitation in his voice, “But is it likely to last? What if the man has family who pay to spring him out of the asylum? What if he convinces them they’ve made a mistake? Then he’ll be out on the streets again.”

Basil flopped into his chair, picking up his pipe. “Perhaps he will at that, Dawson. But the man _is_ mad, and if those sanitarium doctors have any ounce of sense, they’ll be able to spot it, and convince the relatives of that fact. And even if he manages to get released, I doubt he’ll go back to his old ways.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because he will have every reason to believe that ‘X’ is still keeping an eye on him. He’ll be deathly afraid to even venture _near_ Whitechapel. If he was stupid enough to try, he’d always be looking over his shoulder, wondering where ‘X’ was. As a result, his work would be sloppier, more rushed, he’d make more mistakes, and increase his chances of being caught in the act. So one way or another, he would be caught.”

 “Remarkable,” Dawson said admiringly, “You should be proud, Basil, even if none of the humans will ever know what you’ve accomplished.”

Basil lit his pipe and puffed contentedly. “I will consider it one of the finest jewels in my crown of success. Perhaps someday I will write my memoirs and reveal it all to the world, but for now I am content to keep my anonymity.”

“And those children who helped you will have a story to tell their grandchildren.”

“Multiple stories, I hope.”

“What do you mean?”

Basil smiled almost fondly. “Their help was invaluable to the case. I wouldn’t have been able to rest easy if they hadn’t been keeping an eye out for me. I realized, once again, that I cannot always do this alone. If they patrolled the streets for me, keeping an eye out for interesting crimes or suspicious characters, I would be able to do so much good for the city. I’m thinking of going round in a day or two and inviting them to Baker Street, so they can get an idea of how to come find me…”


End file.
